With many Jewish communities planning new synagogues or embarking upon building projects deferred by the war, the problem of Jewish religious architecture has become one of wide practical concern. Its discussion, in addition, illuminates the general problem of creating Jewish cultural forms indigenous to the American scene.
Three of the contributions to this informal symposium on the problem of synagogue architecture in this time and place were stimulated by Rachel Wischnitzer-Bernstein’s provocative article on that subject in our March issue. Dr. Landsberger’s essay was prepared originally for the Union of American Hebrew Congregations.
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In this time of troubles, all religious denominations are more or less aware that services on Sabbaths and Holy Days cannot suffice to base our total life on the great moral principles underlying the religious edifice, that a church or a temple must remain a mere symbol unless faith is supported by ever-present spiritual guidance and the permanent education of the entire congregation.
That is why today’s religious centers should comprise three units: the house of worship, which is the House of God; the assembly hall for adult members, which is the House of the People; the school for the education and recreation of children, which is the House of the Torah. To shelter these three divisions, to bring their different functions into an organic planned relationship, to express their material and mental unification, must be the final aim of the architect. It is a task of great complexity that demands a bold approach—the courage of artistic vision and the ingenious employment of all the facilities we have developed in other fields of human endeavor.
A temple with a seating capacity set at the maximum expected on, for instance, the Day of Atonement (i.e., at least twice as large as needed for normal services), is inadvisable for many reasons. The rabbi cannot be at his best in front of empty seats; the adult member of the congregation, after a hectic business week, cannot turn his mind toward a higher plane unless he is carried (at least visually) by the religious intensity of a full house—the palpable sign of collective devotion. His economic conscience has no sympathy with “halls of state” (that formal Victorian relic) used for a few occasions only, which are quite contrary to the informal pioneer spirit that made this country what it is. The young generation, now fully aware of the bare facts of life, rightly abhors mere size and pompousness.
To redirect the minds of our young, to make them aware of their human limitations, to educate them for the age of man we are just entering, our temples must be built to human scale—social centers, as concentrated and flexible as life should be when it runs as a working utility.
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Thus our temples should reject the anachronistic representation of God as a feudal lord, should apply contemporary building styles and architectural conceptions to make God’s house a part of the democratic community in which he dwells. Temples should reject in their interiors the mystifying darkness of an illiterate time and should place their faith in the light of day. The House of God should either be an inspiring place for festive occasions that lift up the heart of man, or an animated gathering place for a fellowship warming men’s thoughts and intentions by the fire of the divine word given forth from altar and pulpit right in their midst.
Since building funds are always too low and high building-costs are here to stay—every war, and especially the last war with its tremendous waste and destruction, has decreased the value of our money—congregations should demand of their architects, as a sheer economic necessity, that they use materials and techniques appropriate to today’s wage level and give up architectural methods feasible only at the wage rates of times long past, that they devise plans for buildings whose every room, every bit of space, would be used every day, that they make their plans as flexible as possible, through room combinations, in order to meet the many and varied needs of the congregations, that they renounce superficial and costly decoration and make the layout and structural system the principal expression of technical and artistic ingenuity—so that the synagogue may function somewhat as did the static structure of the Greek temple, which, even when in ruins, retains its magnificent scale and symbolic idea as the house of the gods of Greece, and somewhat as did the dynamic structure of the medieval cathedral, which, even when stripped of all its adornment, remains shining evidence of faith in Jesus.
Both Greek temple and Christian cathedral are genuine expressions of the divine powers from which the architect’s inspiration sprang and, at the same time, manifestations of human power—expressing the spirit of a new age from which his hand and vision received substance and support. We, in this age, however, show an irrational reluctance to grasp our own opportunities to assume the challenging responsibility before us. We hesitate to be bold in designing our homes, public buildings, and temples at the same time that we recklessly probe the secret workings of our material environment.
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It has been said that religious structures must be “traditional” in order to impart a sense of the sacred, that the dignity and emotional significance of such buildings can only be expressed through historical associations. To admit this is to deny that religion is an important part of our contemporary society. It is frequently said that contemporary design will not “harmonize.” Certainly even the most beautifully conceived contemporary building will suffer if it is arbitrarily forced into a jungle of faked period pieces. This is why it is doubly important to select a site that will do justice to the building and not mar its harmonious integration with its surroundings.
Today we have reformed our liturgy and religious customs in order to free Judaism from the friction of outlived forms, and to make its vital functions conform with the life we have to live. And the experience of two world wars, the profound changes produced by science and technology will of necessity translate the ideals upon which our country was built into the terms of a new age—an age in which these ideals will survive in principle, but must be filled with new content.
The generations among us now mature may not live to see the whole of this promised land, but the generations of our children will certainly breathe its buoyant air. It is for them we plan and build new temples and they, rightfully, will condemn us if the buildings we build for many generations to come reflect in their form conceptions of a world that is not theirs.
If, however, the needs and limitations of the community are seriously appraised, the site carefully chosen, the geographic and climatic factors thoroughly evaluated, and contemporary building methods boldly and surely employed, the result is bound to be stimulating and sincere—a visual proof that we Jews are full participants in this momentous period of America’s history. It is a period that demands centers of worship where the spirit of the Bible is no ancient mirage but a living truth, where Jehovah is not a distant king but our guide and companion. It demands temples that will bear witness to man’s material achievements and, at the same time, symbolize our spiritual renascence. This question no architect can pass upon, but the answer will be recorded in the pages of history now being written.
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